


Fear of Drowning

by AdrianaintheSnow



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Drowning, Imprisonment, M/M, Multi, Starvation, Swords, Temporary Character Death, This story isn't a priority so it'll have slow updates, throwing up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28319382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdrianaintheSnow/pseuds/AdrianaintheSnow
Summary: He’d come to the conclusion that the best way to be buried would be to be buried at sea, and it had also been the most probable conclusion anyway considering how often he was on a boat. Some omnipotent being must have a morbid sense of humor. Now he was drowning. It wasn’t the first time. When Virgil had wanted to be buried at sea, he’d anticipated being able to die.Virgil has been assigned a mission, not particularly of his own will. Finding and delivering the Pearl of Life to it’s next owner is important enough that he’s been ‘gifted’ temporary immortality until the task is complete. This ends up being far more a curse than a benefit as he faces people who do and do not know what he’s been tasked to do. Of all things… the pirates aren’t that bad though.This is part of my Roll the Dice Event which is where I do random ships, universe, and genres for the Sanders Sides fandom. My prompt was LAMP Pirate AU angst with a happy ending using the word 'contrary'.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Comments: 47
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> See [here](https://snowdice.tumblr.com/post/614945067082399744/roll-the-dice-play-sheet) for the rules of the event I'm doing.

Virgil had thought about dying perhaps more than was healthy, but in his defense, he’d lived a fairly perilous lifestyle for most of his life and had anxiety besides. As such, he’d thought about what would happen to him after he died in detail. Most of this had been dedicated to wondering about what happened to his soul or if he even had a soul, but some of it had turned to contemplating what would happen to his body.

There were a few common options, of course. Some people’s bodies were burned to ashes. There was nothing wrong with it. People couldn’t feel it once they were dead, but it made some instinctual part of Virgil shudder in discontent. Then, there was being buried. It’s how his mom and dad were buried, but the idea of being buried in the dirt always left a bit of fear clogging his throat. No matter how irrational, he couldn’t help but fear that he would be alive still somehow when people buried him and then he’d _wake up_ only to slowly suffocate due to lack of oxygen deep underground where no one could hear him scream for help. He’d come to the conclusion that the best way to be buried would be to be buried at sea, and it had also been the most probable conclusion anyway considering how often he was on a boat. It didn’t make him shudder like the idea of fire and he reasoned that, even if there was some mistake and he wasn’t dead, it’d kill him a lot faster.

Some omnipotent being must have a morbid sense of humor.

Now he was drowning. It wasn’t the first time.

When Virgil had wanted to be buried at sea, he’d anticipated being able to die. Not this. He’d moved on from panicking around the 50th time he’d succumbed to inky watery blackness only to wake up somehow alive once again in the same situation he’d been before dying. His world was only darkness and water and death. In the moments he was able to string thoughts together before it became impossible due to lack of oxygen, he remembered the moments that led him here.

It had been a simple casket, made of wood and blank except for one inscription on the top that Virgil couldn’t read, but understood from what they’d said was some sort of curse damning him to hell. At this point, Virgil almost wished it had worked. The fires of hell would at least be something different from the cold, crushing pressure of water. There had been chains hanging around it already, waiting to lock him inside. He’d struggled, but he’d been unarmed and taken unaware and there’d been 10 of them. They’d tossed him into the sea as soon as they managed to get him locked into the wooden box. The casket was rather well sealed for how cheaply it had looked. It had taken a good long while for it to fill completely, not that Virgil had been able to breathe even before all of the air had been pushed out of it by water.

It would have been a cruel way to kill him even if their leader hadn’t known Virgil wouldn’t die. Or well, he would die. Just over and over again.

Virgil woke once more with water already sitting heavy in his lungs, but something was different this time. It took him a moment to figure out exactly what had gotten his attention. Then, his head banged against the side of the casket as Virgil’s small prison smacked into something hard once and then again. Virgil felt spikes of wood dig into his side as the wood splintered.

It was more instinct than anything that compelled Virgil to shove his hand against the wood where it had broken. He could feel the skin of his hands rip, but he continued to shove at it anyway. The wood gave more, but Virgil was losing consciousness and quickly felt the world slip from his grasps.

When he resurfaced into awareness once again, he was still drowning, but things were even more different. When he instinctually flailed his arms out, they hit nothing. He opened his eyes only to see murky blackness still, but he was no longer in the casket.

If there had been any oxygen left in his lungs, he would have tried to blow bubbles to get his bearings, but there was none. Everything was water. Desperately, he started to swim in a direction, up, down, or to the side, he didn’t know.

He drowned at least a dozen more times before he saw sunlight again.

His head finally breached the surface, and everything hurt. He managed to cough out some of the water and the first breath of air burned more than inhaling water at this point. His body gave in shortly after. Yet, it was easier the next time to find the surface and get more air. It took a few tries, but eventually, Virgil could actually live more than a few minutes. Of course, he was in the middle of the ocean, so he still ended up succumbing to his exhaustion a few times before he finally managed to find a bit of driftwood to help keep him afloat. He died once more on top of it but woke for the last time finally able to breathe for real.

He looked around himself and realized… he was still totally fucked. He might not be actively dying, but he was in the middle of the ocean. Alone. With no idea where the nearest body of land was. Luckily, or perhaps not when he thought about it, dying from starvation or thirst took a lot longer in his current state. So, he was able to drift for… he wasn’t even sure… weeks maybe without succumbing to death again.

Finally, blessedly, he saw a boat in the distance. The ocean was still enough that day that he was able to wave them down with a bit of effort. When he saw the emblem on their flag, he almost wished he hadn’t. Yet… beggars couldn’t be choosers. He was fished out of the sea by a Golden Tecta ship.


	2. Chapter 2

Virgil was hauled up onto the large merchant ship and immediately went down onto hand and knee when he was released by the woman who had helped him up. He took deep shuddering breaths, staring at his hands on the wooden ship deck.

“Get him some water,” a gruff voice demanded from somewhere above him.

Virgil vaguely heard people moving and whispering around him, but it was hard to make out exactly what was happening through the rushing in his ears and the pounding of his heart. He watched in detached curiosity as the borders of his hands almost seemed to blur like he was about to disintegrate into the sea air.

The sharpness of reality returned when he felt himself get yanked back fully onto his knees by the tattered remains of his shirt. A cup was pressed to his lips. A flicker of worry zinging though his mind because he knew how Golden Tecta Shipping worked. He wondered how he’d be expected to pay for this charity.

Still, his throat had been burning from the amount of salt coating it for so long now; he could barely remember a time when it wasn’t raw. He opened his mouth, and the cup was tilted so he could drink. He did his best to not drink too fast considering how fucked his stomach probably was by now. After a few moments, the water was pulled way.

“So,” the voice from before said. Virgil looked up. The man standing in front of him was the captain of the ship. He was wearing the decorated red coat and large black hat typical of captains of Golden Tecta ships, but besides that, Virgil would have been able to tell just by the way he held himself. Virgil’s eyes flickered to where the man’s hand was resting casually on his sword: a warning. Since Virgil was clearly in no condition to be a threat, he quickly deduced that the man must just be an asshole. If Virgil was feeling less than ½ dead, he would have rolled his eyes. “Who are you?” the captain asked.

Despite the water, Virgil still had to cough a bit to get his voice to work. “I’m Virgil Shaw,” he said. The last name was a lie, though he doubted these people would recognize his actual one even if they knew of him.

“And how did you end up drifting alone in the ocean and needing to be picked up by my crew?” he asked. He put a subtle emphasis on ‘needing’ as though Virgil could somehow forget his own vulnerability.

“Shipwreck,” Virgil lied. “I’ve been drifting for a while now.”

“What type of ship?” he asked. It was a very loaded question. There were really only four options. Golden Tecta Shipping had a monopoly over trading goods by sea and they kept their control over the market with a viciousness most humans could rarely stomach outside of corporate disconnect. Therefore, many ships on the sea were owned by the company.

He could claim to be from a different Golden Tecta ship, but then he’d have to lie his was through a barrage of questions about his position in the company and would be expected to know the corresponding duties on the ship. Not to mention, they’d insist on keeping him once they got to shore to verify that he was who he said he was. Lying would likely be a one-way trip to the gallows… which would end even worse that it usually would considering he wouldn’t die from having his neck snapped.

His second option, saying he was transporting goods and wasn’t part of Golden Tecta i.e. he was transporting them illegally, i.e. he was a pirate would get him thrown directly back into the water, probably after being ran through by a sword.

There was, of course, the option of saying he was part of a navy, but there was no guarantee that they’d like that any more than him being a pirate. While they played nice with most navy ships, they didn’t particularly like the law, and with him weak and alone, they may take the opportunity to dispose of one of the people who regulated them to an annoying degree.

So, all that was left was the truth, or, well, a shadow of the truth. “I’m a traveler,” he said. “Private ship.”

“I see,” the captain said, eyeing Virgil suspiciously. Virgil internally cringed. “I’m Captain Yates. This is a Golden Tetra ship, the ST-788. We’re heading to the Darwell port and are expected to arrive in around 8 weeks.” He looked away, feigning boredom with Virgil though Virgil could feel his attention like a chain around his neck. “We are a fairly packed ship with not much extra in way of supplies and living space. If you choose to stay on my ship for the rest of our journey, you will be expected to accept the accommodations we can find for you as well as contribute to the ship running in order to access any other resources.”

Seriously? Virgil thought. If he _chose_ to stay on the ship. As opposed to what? Jumping back overboard and drowning again? Virgil was not fooled by the official phrasing. He knew how Golden Tecta often treated their low-level employees, let alone helpless guests and Yates seemed to have an air about him that said he was worse than average. He was smart too; he seemed to sense that Virgil wasn’t telling him everything.

“Do you agree?” Yates asked.

Virgil tried his absolute hardest not to let the anger already coursing through his veins pour out onto his face. Signs of resistance wouldn’t help him any. He wasn’t sure if he managed to not screw up his face into a scowl considering the dark, threatening look that flickered over the captain’s face in the moment before Virgil managed to choke out, “Yes. I agree.”

“Accommodations” ended up being a literal cell below deck. Yates claimed that this was simply because they had no real beds, but that didn’t explain why they locked the door whenever he was inside of it. Virgil wasn’t an idiot even when his mind, to be completely honest, was not working at full power. He understood what this was, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

He did his best to breathe as he laid in the shit cot he’d been so kindly allowed to use. He was pretty sure that he had a couple of broken ribs, and they were nowhere near healing. The deal he’d “agreed” to meant working for all food and water and, even at full capability, he wouldn’t have ever been able to earn enough of it. As it were, there were some days he wasn’t able to complete the tasks assigned to him because of his injuries, which meant he did not get any food that day and would often get slammed around for his failure. This, of course, made it even harder the next day for him to complete his task. Such was the way of Golden Tecta Shipping.

Just the day before, he’d blacked out while trying to scrub the ship deck and had waken up back on the floor of his cell with a bonus new footprint on his chest and fresh bruises in other places. If his ribs hadn’t already been broken, they certainly were now. He’d just barely managed to drag himself onto the cot.

He stared at the ceiling above him. How long had he been on this ship? Two weeks? Three? He felt numb. Empty. He’d felt empty for a while at this point, he realized. Well, almost empty. He was in physical pain, of course, that hadn’t gone away, but emotionally he was pretty much on empty save for the anger that had been slowly growing strong and stronger over the course of his time on this ship. It was the only thing holding him up most days and it buzzed so strongly in his chest that it almost blocked out the pain from the broken ribs. Sometimes when he was dazed enough and retching on his empty stomach, he liked to imagine that the blood he was spitting up was the anger given form. It made him feel better about it somehow.

Eventually, he managed to doze off, his mind in a haze of pain and boiling hatred, until he heard something bang on the metal bars of his cell.

“You still alive in there?” a voice said. It was a rather cheery tone for the content of the question. Virgil recognized the voice. He wasn’t sure of the man’s actual position or name, but he was up there on the food chain, and he was a bastard.

“Yes,” Virgil said blankly.

“Damn. I’m impressed. I’d thought I’d been sent to try to wake the dead with how you went down yesterday.”

Virgil said nothing. He just slowly sat up and put his feet under him.

The man whistled, “and walking too,” he said, sounding mockingly impressed.

Virgil would be dead, Virgil thought. If his story had been completely true and he had just been some poor shipwrecked injured guy, if he’d been able to die, he’d be dead by now. The man in front of him and Captain Yates didn’t give a damn. Honestly, at this point it could have been pure rage that had him putting one foot in front of the other to the cell door.

“Think you’ll be able to actually finish scrubbing the deck today?” the man asked casually like Virgil had just ran out of time yesterday and his body hadn’t shut down completely from the exhaustion, starvation, and pain.

Virgil still stayed quiet and the man shrugged, leading him up to the deck. A scrub brush was shoved into his hands. He went to his knees and moved to begin his task. He distantly registered the large amount of pain he felt at the movement, but he had no choice but to push through. He managed to zone out for the most part, almost hypnotized by the repetitive motion of moving the brush back and forth across the wooden deck.

He was so engrossed in his task, that it took him a moment to realize what was happening when everyone started rushing about and barking orders. Virgil looked up. Huh, he thought, a pirate ship.


End file.
